


CATCH MANOR

by linnhe



Category: NCT (Band), SuperM (Korea Band)
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Belly Rubs, Creampie, Daddy Kink, Dehumanization, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Financial Coercion, Gangbang, Humiliation, Inflation, M/M, Objectification, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Size Kink, Stomach Ache, Subspace, Sugar Daddy, Taemin is autistic, Throat Fucking, Watersports, distention, everyone is aged up by at least a decade, except for Taemin and Taeyong, slight somnophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22256857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linnhe/pseuds/linnhe
Summary: Callboy Taemin lives to gamble, and meets a powerful man who is happy to fund his habit.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Lee Taemin, Lee Taemin/Everyone, Lee Taemin/Lee Taeyong, Mark Lee (NCT)/Lee Taemin
Comments: 33
Kudos: 100





	1. The Parlour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamon/gifts).



The room is dimly lit, smells faintly of leather. Everything in it speaks to its owner's wealth: polished wood, handcrafted Chesterfield couches, accentuated with primitive antiques which Taemin thinks are beautiful nor worth having, but undoubtedly cost more than the entire contents of his apartment.

The carpet is plush underneath his knees, the collar around his neck a little too tight. He shivers, and although he's fully naked, it's out of discomfort rather than because he's cold. Because the room is pleasantly warm, floor heating effectively turning the carpet into a heated blanket.

He's worked many high-end gatherings before, but tonight is different. This is the first time he's been hired to act inanimate.

He remembers the response he'd gotten from Jongin when his eyes had bugged out, as he read through the stipulations of the contract.

"Ah, I know it's a little... unusual. But I promise no harm will come to you. I will personally see to that," Jongin had assured him, his voice even and yet warm. Inviting. A voice you'd enjoy having in your ear, while having your knees pushed apart.

"So, what kind of, uh... which piece of furniture would I be?" Taemin asks, unsure of the type of language he should be using.

Jongin is twirling his fountain pen, his gaze unfocused as he considers it. He's quite a bit older than Taemin, at least forty, and greying at the temples. But he's a beautiful man nonetheless. "Probably an ashtray, or a side table. Something simple to start you out with." He seems to become lost in thought for a while, and Taemin waits in silence. When they make eye contact again, the hair on the back of Taemin's neck bristles under the intensity of Jongin's scrutiny. "I will be happy to have you back if your performance is to my liking. Provided you enjoy the task, of course."

"What should I call you and your guests, during?" Taemin asks. There had been no mention of it in the contract.

"Nothing. You don't speak."

Present day Taemin looks down at the ashtray resting against his chest, intricately hung from his collar with thin silver chains. Even the ashtray looks expensive, made from polished brass and inlaid mother of pearl. It had been chilly to the touch to begin with, but his body heat had warmed it up since.

He better like this job. It's the most money he's ever been offered for a single evening of work, and his raging gambling addiction was singing at the thought of having that kind of spending money. If it was really as Jongin had said, all he would be doing was kneel for a couple of hours - enduring the physical discomfort that came with that - and breathe in some cigar fumes. In his lifetime, Taemin has worked harder and endured worse for way less pay.

He glances at the door for what feels like the hundredth time, his nerves making him unusually fidgety. It's the newness of the scene, he doesn't know what to expect. Could this really be all they wanted from him, to just sit and do nothing? He doesn't understand the appeal.

The door opens and Taemin suppresses an inhale of surprise, looking straight ahead and forgetting to breathe.

A small group of men file in, all wearing variations of the same tuxedo and dinner jacket Taemin has seen time and time again at balls and galas. He relaxes at the familiarity of their clothes, takes in a deep breath. For all their wealth, rich people suffered from a lack of imagination when it came to fancy dress. At least rich women were adorned in variety and captivating colours at events. Inevitably ill-fitting and floor-length, but still. 

Then again, maybe there was something to be said for tradition, Taemin thought as he surreptitiously observed the men. Their pomaded hair caught the muted light of the room, as did their cufflinks and expensive watches. But it was their casual manner that piqued his interest most. Taemin shifted slightly, feeling the first stirrings of arousal. Despite being as flawed as the society that produced them, the way rich men carried themselves was sexy to him. He shouldn't feel that way, should look down on how they treated others. But if he was a better man, he probably wouldn't be here right now.

Jongin comes in last, and smiles when he spots Taemin. He has an unexpected smile, a little too wide and too bright for this type of gathering.

"Gentlemen!" he exclaims, clapping his hands together in a way that makes Taemin wonder how many drinks deep he is, "I have a brand new piece. Exquisite, newly bought. Please indulge me, it's right over there."

Taemin swallows heavily when he realizes they're talking about him. But Jongin had called him _it_ , and he has to suppress another wave of discomfort in response. Several of the men come up and openly admire him, and he observes them in turn.

"It really is exquisite. Where did you find it?" a tall man with plush lips asks, clinking his ice cubes in his glass of amber liquid. He has _big_ hands, evidenced by how they dwarf the glass he's holding. He looks to be one of the younger men present, maybe thirty to thirty-five.

"Ah-ah Lucas," Jongin says playfully, wiggling his index finger back and forth, "if I ever make the mistake of letting the name of my furniture dealer slip to you, you'd buy every piece out from under me, I'm certain of it."

Lucas laughs, tilting his glass towards the group to show he can't deny the accusation.

"Is it new?" another man asks. The softness of his voice and slanted eyes is betrayed by the cold set of his mouth. "I don't like the way it's been finished. A little too in your face."

"Yes, brand new," Jongin says, some of the pleasure draining from his voice. He reaches out and slowly pushes Taemin's head down, until he's forced to look at their shoes. "Allow me to apologize, Chittaphon. I'm sure its charm will grow on you in time. It just needs some more polishing."

The man named Chittaphon makes a soft sound of acquiescence, and then walks away. He's wearing pointed shoes with a muted snake leather print - or maybe it's actual snake, you never know with these types - which automatically makes him the most interestingly dressed man in the room. And yet Taemin doesn't like him much. He has developed a gut feeling about men like Chittaphon; a little too mean for their own good.

It's some hours later, and the evening is passing by uneventfully. Taemin is mainly being used by the two most avid smokers of the group, who he learns are named Mark and Baekhyun. Mark must have been born in America, a theory supported by his preference for his foreign name, and his usage of Korean, which is too cocky to sound entirely native.

Baekhyun seems to be on something, eyes heavily lidded and speech slow, if he speaks at all. He mainly lights Mark's vanilla-flavoured cigarettes for him, and smiles at everything the other says. Taemin tries to be subtle about observing them, but he's caught out by Jongin eventually, who squints at him.

When the evening has drawn to a natural end, the only people left in the room are Jongin, Taemin and Lucas. The latter is passed out on a chaise longue, his mouth wide open and bow tie loosened.

Jongin unbuckles the collar with practised movements, and Taemin rubs at the parts of his skin where the leather has left an imprint.

"The money will be transferred to your account within five working days. I usually settle my debts more promptly, but since the amount is rather large and you have the most basic account your bank offers, some extra clearances will have to be signed off on."

Taemin looks up at Jongin, who frowns at him. "I must admit I'm disappointed in your behaviour tonight. I don't like giving an instruction twice."

Taemin can hear alarm bells going off in his head. Did he just fuck up the most well-paying job ever offered to him? Because if so, there was a blackjack table, a craps table, a roulettes table and a horse race that had some choice words on the matter.

He has to do something - anything. He settles on holding Jongin's gaze while slowly and deliberately parting his lips, and then averts his gaze, his eyes coming to a rest on Jongin's thighs. For what feels like half a minute, nothing happens.

And then Jongin quietly says: "What are you offering, exactly?"

Taemin isn't sure how to proceed. Jongin clearly prefers his whores to shut up and act meek, so how does he explain himself while holding to those two preferences. He settles for going down on all fours so he can crawl closer, and nuzzling Jongin's shoe, which is rewarded with a satisfyingly sharp intake of breath.

What follows is a fairly standard face fuck, but Taemin stays as quiet as a mouse throughout. Even when tears start streaming down his face because of how rough Jongin is treating him, forcing the head of his cock into his throat while keeping his hands clasped over the back of Taemin's head.

As soon as the back of his throat has been covered in Jongin's come he's released, and it takes a lot out of him to stay unmoving, but he manages it. He doesn't close his mouth, doesn't swallow, doesn't blink. He breathes through his nose, and it's uneven but suppressed. _A thing_ , he thinks, _as long as I'm here, I'm a thing. Things don't move, things don't make decisions._

"Yes," Jongin says quietly, approvingly, "yes, just like that." He readjusts himself, tucking his wilting dick back into his boxer briefs and zipping up his corduroy slacks. "That concludes the scene, Taemin. Feel free to go back to being... you."

Taemin closes his mouth and swallows, because nothing in this room is suitable to be spat on, and then gets to his feet with some difficulty. He takes a couple of deep breaths, steadying himself. His legs feel heavy and sore, but he hasn't lost feeling, which is a relief; he hates the feeling of pins and needles. The tears and snot are wiped from his face with brusque movements, with a handkerchief Jongin has produced from a pocket.

"I hope you'll invite me back, sir. I'll do better next time," he says evenly, looking Jongin straight in the eyes. Confident, but not too assertive. A consummate professional, that's how he wants Jongin to remember him.

"Oh, I don't doubt that one bit," Jongin says. "It's rare for me to change my opinion on someone once it's been formed, you're really quite clever. Yes. I will certainly consider having you back."

\--

Taemin has already burned through a considerable amount of his payout by the time he's contacted again by Jongin. That speaks more to how irresponsible he's been than to how much time has passed, and he can't help but feel excited when opens up the envelope and reads through the contract. If Jongin kept calling on him this regularly, there was no way he'd ever have to hold back again.

The first half of the contract is nearly identical to last time, except for one small word under _expected services_ , which has been highlighted so there's no way for him to miss it.

Urinal.

Taemin frowns at it, turning the page to see if it's explained any further on the back of the page. There's a couple more highlighted passages on the back concerning changes in payment, and Taemin's eyes go wide when he sees the amount offered. It's double. Double what he made last time.

Taemin laughs out loud in disbelief, and then laughs some more, giddy at the thought what all that money could buy him. 

Whatever Jongin wanted, the man was getting it.


	2. The Bathroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi this is where the watersports kick off

He's naked again, and this time he's shivering because he's cold. The tiled floor is painful against his knees, but he doesn't dare shift his position too much. He's been here for over an hour, by himself, but suspects he's being watched. And Jongin had told him he wouldn't stand for any more disobedience.

He's kneeling over a traditional squat toilet, watching the open-mouth gag lying on the floor in front of him. Jongin had asked him if he preferred to have the gag or not, but added that his first time might be easier with the gag. The impulse to close his mouth might be stronger than himself.

So Taemin had opted to have the aid available. He's worn one before, occasionally, whenever his work took him into the leather scene. It had never been a focus item then, more a thing that sold the idea of subservience rather than enforced it. But it would be the sole thing he'd be wearing today.

The room has the feeling of a public bathroom, except not quite. There's a row of urinals along one wall, and several squat toilets built into floor, but there's no stalls. Taemin suspects no one has ever used this place; it looks brand new and doesn't smell like anything. Just like the room he'd been in last time, it seemed to be put together just for Jongin's special gatherings. 

He wonders how many more buildings Jongin owns, how many more rooms that only exist to get him off. It was decadent to the point of feeling off-putting. And yet he was part of the system; a body up for sale, for a rich man to play with any way he wished.

The door opens, but Taemin doesn't look up. The money, he can't forget about the money.

Two naked feet come into view, and then knees and thighs. The other person has kneeled over the toilet next to him, in a position that mirrors his. After a few moments Taemin realizes this must be another prostitute.

"Hi," he whispers impulsively, immediately regretting it. A toilet can't speak. Well, except for Japanese ones maybe.

"Hi," the other person whispers back after a beat, "I'm Taeyong... nice to meet you?" He sighs, and shifts a little. "I was almost late getting here. Gangnam traffic, man, it's killing me."

Taemin smiles at his knees. He'd grown up in Gangnam, it was the other districts that baffled him. Like, how did anyone ever find a place to park? "Taemin," he whispers, still unmoving.

"Real name? That doesn't sound like a working name."

"Yeah, real name. Neither does yours."

Taeyong huffs out a quiet laugh. "Caught me... my bestie said it's a Cancer thing. So open-hearted I couldn't even come up with a fake name."

Taemin grins at the floor. "But really, you were just too lazy. Am I right?"

"Hey-!" the other whisper-shouts in fake offense. He sounds like he's about to add more, but the door opens again and this time it's snake-leather shoes that come into view. They both fall silent, watching the shoes near them.

Chittaphon's identity is confirmed when he crouches in front of Taemin, picking up the gag and considering it for a while. He looks straight into Taemin's face, who keeps his gaze unfocused.

The gag goes on smoothly, clasped shut at the back of Taemin's head. His head is tilted back, jaw stretched wide, and then Chittaphon is unbuckling his belt. It's a gaudy thing, matched to his shoes. The full weight of what is about to happen crashes into Taemin, and he can't help but squirm a little. It's not that he's never come into contact with watersports before, but it had never been this overt, this deliberate.

Jongin comes in too, coming to a halt by Chittaphon's side.

"Since it's new, I'll go slow. Don't like to see spills," Chittaphon says, almost to himself.

With that, he places his flaccid dick into Taemin's mouth. It takes a few seconds, but then the warm stream starts up. His mouth is filled up halfway, and then Chittaphon cuts off his stream.

Taemin blinks, and waits. He's unsure of what to do next. The liquid sits against his gullet, what little he can taste of it unpleasant.

"Why isn't it swallowing?" Chittaphon asks with a frown.

Taemin also frowns. There had been no mention of this beforehand, and frankly, he feels very little for what the man in front of him is suggesting. He's fine with being peed on, even with briefly having it in his mouth. But he's not about to _ingest_ it.

"Maybe I purchased the wrong model," Jongin suggests, "I thought that's what I ordered. But this one seems rather limited in what it can do... should I return it?" There's an unspoken threat in his words, one that promises a future with considerably less riches.

 _You fucker,_ Taemin thinks to himself, and starts swallowing with difficulty. He's realizing the gag is working against him now, making it much harder to make a swallowing motion. But he's out of options, so he just struggles through it. The last of it goes down the wrong hole, and he's forced into a coughing fit, which is extra unpleasant with the gag keeping his jaw apart.

As soon as he's caught his breath, Chittaphon returns, emptying his bladder further into Taemin's waiting mouth. Taemin tries to swallow as it comes, wanting the ordeal to be over faster. But he goes into another coughing fit, and Chittaphon steps away with a hiss, his stream of piss landing across Taemin's chest and thighs before he cuts it off again.

Taemin lands on his hands, heaving and gagging. He feels like he might throw up. _It's the gag_ , he thinks. It's making it impossible to swallow smoothly, to breathe well while doing it. All things Jongin must've known ahead of time. He set him up to fail, wanted him to struggle like this. Taemin feels anger flaring up. Was this supposed to be punishment? A challenge? He could take either.

With a final deep breath, he pushes himself off the floor and gets back into his original position, schooling his expression into a neutral one. Jongin clicks his tongue in appreciation, but his opinion is clearly not shared by Chittaphon, who has moved over to Taeyong.

Jongin steps closer to Taemin, gently taking his head into his hands and turning it towards Taeyong. It's his first opportunity to really look at him, and the first thing he notices is how good-looking the other prostitute is. Not that Taemin is bad to look at, blessed with a sultry mouth and eyes that he works to his full advantage, and a slightly hooked nose that he personally thinks charming rather than overpowering. 

But Taeyong had one of _those_ faces. The kind that seemed a little unreal up close, because there were no flaws.

"It's very good at this. Watch and learn," Jongin instructs quietly.

Taemin immediately notices what Jongin means. Even though Taeyong gives off the impression of being immovable, he does in fact make slight adjustments to his position, just enough to better accomodate Chittaphon. He closes his mouth around Chittaphon's dick, and slightly tilts his head. Taemin watches the bob of his Adam's apple as he evenly swallows down everything Chittaphon has to offer him, a world of difference to the spluttering mess it had reduced Taemin to. He wonders what Taeyong is being paid for this, compared to him.

Jongin shifts next to him, and Taemin's first impulse is to nuzzle him and erase all lingering thoughts of annulling their contract. But he reminds himself that he's not supposed to move. That - above all else, even while taking the gross taste of urine still lingering in his mouth into consideration - has proven the hardest on him. How can he do his job to his usual standard if he isn't allowed autonomy?

Jongin walks away from him, and Taemin is left to observe Taeyong as he works. After Chittaphon and Jongin have left, two more men stop by to make use of Taeyong, both of them unfamiliar. It surprises Taemin, how the other manages to both remain motionless and yet look increasingly fucked out. It's obvious he's enjoying every second of this and it fills Taemin with a wistful kind of envy.

Taeyong throws him a little wink as soon as they're by themselves again, but just as he opens his mouth to say something, the door swings open.

The next person who comes to relieve himself picks Taemin, and he recognizes him from last time. But what was his name again... something Hyun. Byunghyun? No, that wasn't it. He'd looked high beyond measure last time, but there's no trace of that today. He looks alert.

"Been holding it in all day, just for you..."

Taemin struggles less when he's put to use this time, able to tilt his head in a way that makes it easier on his body. His next hurdle isn't swallowing it all, it's how full his stomach is starting to feel. He has never been a volume kind of guy when it came to eating and drinking. He just didn't enjoy the act very much, usually forgot to do it, preferring to keep his focus on keeping things moving rather than nurturing his body. 

He shifts and moans softly, breathing hard in between gulps, feeling the uncomfortable weight of all that piss growing in his guts. It's rewarded with a heavily-lidded look from the man using him.

 _Baekhyun,_ Taemin recalls as he looks up into Baekhyun's eyes. That's what he'd looked like last time; so out of it.

Another familiar face walks in. The American... Mark? Yeah, that had been it. Mark.

Mark joins Baekhyun's side, smirking down at Taemin, an eyebrow quirking up. It's an attractive expression on the man's angular face.

"Didn't expect to see this thing down here so soon. He must've paid a pretty penny to make it happen."

Taemin blinks at him, uncertain if he should engage beyond that. He just looks up at him, and Mark reaches out to cup his face. "He really knows how to find the prettiest ones," he murmurs, tracing a thumb over Taemin's stretched bottom lip, reaching underneath Baekhyun's length, "sinful."

Baekhyun sucks his teeth in annoyance. "Yo, Mark, can a man piss in peace? You'll have your turn in a minute."

Mark rests his head on Baekhyun's shoulder, clearly aiming to make an annoyance of himself, and laughs when he's shoved off. The last of Baekhyun's stream goes across Taemin's face and into his hair, and he moans in surprise and protest, shaking his head.

"Ah, look now. You've made a mess of it," Mark complains. But he doesn't actually seem all that upset.

"Your fault," Baekhyun huffs indignantly, while zipping his slacks back up. "I'm heading back. Don't come to my table."

Mark yells out in light-hearted protest as Baekhyun walks off, and then lets out an honest to God giggle, his nose scrunching up. It's so unexpected that Taemin can't help but huff out a laugh too, despite the gag and his miserable circumstances. He regularly spends time around older men, but he's not used to them being playful like this.

"Right! Let's hose you down," Mark suddenly announces, grabbing Taemin by his gag with no warning and dragging him along like a dog. Taemin cries out when his knee connects painfully with the porcelain of the toilet, but he might as well have made no sound at all with how much attention Mark pays to it.

He's deposited in the centre of the tiled space, next to a drain built into the floor. Mark grabs the shower head connected to the only sink in the room, and turns on the water full force. It's freezing when it hits Taemin's skin, and Taemin lets out a wordless scream, pulling his legs up and scooting away from the assault of the icy cold water. The room had already been on the edge of chilly, his skin made more sensitive by it. It feels like it's on fire now.

Mark shuts off the water and walks up to him, frowning. "Chittaphon said you were rough around the edges." He leans in, grabbing Taemin by the jaw. Taemin looks up at him fearfully, shivering, his eyelashes stuck together with a mixture of urine and water. The atmosphere had been so relaxed only moments before, there hadn't been enough time for Taemin to switch gears. "Do I need to restrain this pretty thing, or is it going to be good for me?

Taemin shakes his head free, and tries to crawl away. His knee is throbbing, and he's freezing, his fingers now slowly going numb with cold. His stomach feels painful and heavy, and sitting on his knees for so long is avenging itself, because his legs are coming back to life with a bad case of pins and needles. It's too much pain all at once.

Mark grabs hold of him by the gag again, but he's unclasping it. Taemin moans in pain when his jaw is freed and starts aching, massaging its joints with both hands.

"Do you want to stop?" Mark asks. He doesn't sound angry, or concerned. Just matter-of-fact. "Speak."

Taemin is looking at Mark's expensive leather shoes, trying to keep his teeth from chattering as he gathers his thoughts.

"N-no. Just... c-cold." Stopping this is the last thing he wants. He's going to become rich, no matter what.

"Will you sit still if I make the water a nice temperature?"

Taemin nods after a few moments, and slowly scoots back towards the drain. He sits down on his ass, and pulls his limbs close to him, trying to retain body heat. It's in vain.

Mark keeps to his word, fiddling with the tap and feeling out the water's temperature a couple of times before directing the spray towards Taemin again.

It feels heavenly, in comparison, his skin tingling pleasantly. Taemin moans and turns this way and that, trying to get his entire body heated back up. Mark smiles at the display.

"Cute."

Even Taeyong spares him an audible chuckle from somewhere behind them. Taemin doesn't care that he's making a spectacle of himself, too grateful to have a moment of respite. Mark keeps the water going for longer than he expected, and he splays out on the floor, blissful underneath the warmth.

The water stops, and immediately the air is too cold against his skin, causing goosebumps to break out all over. He squirms and pouts.

"It wants more water?" Mark asks, sounding a little too eager. Practised. He starts unscrewing the shower head, and Taemin feels his apprehension rising. "Get on all fours for me."

Taemin obeys, biting back a hiss when he rests too much of his weight on his sore knee. He notices Taeyong is watching them intently, envy written all across his face. Taemin's eyes widen when he feels something hard and cool pressing up against his hole, realization dawning.

"Has it done inflation before?" Mark asks casually, rubbing him with the connecting piece of the hose.

Taemin shakes his head, and Mark's hand comes to a rest between his shoulder blades, pushing him further down until his chest and cheek are flush with the tiles. "I'll only fill it up a little bit to start with."

The end of the hose, oddly shaped and not designed to go up an asshole, is hard to take initially. He breathes in sharply when he feels its edges pressing into him, catching and hurting him, only breathing out once it slips past the outer ring of muscle and slides in deeper. The hose itself is ribbed but relatively smooth. It's a relief, and he wiggles his ass a little, testing out how it feels.

When the stream of water starts up, it's both exactly what he imagined it would feel like, and entirely foreign. It's warmer than his body temperature, and he can feel it streaming into him, a slow but relentless sensation.

Mark places his warm hand on Taemin's stomach, petting its taut surface. "I won't go too far today, wouldn't want to hurt its pretty guts. I just want to see this part swell up a little bit, okay?"

Taemin has a weakness for having his stomach touched, has had it for as long as he can remember. He groans softly and leans into the touch, which is rewarded with a chaste kiss from Mark, pressed to his back.

"It's doing very good. Tell me when it starts to hurt."

Taemin can't imagine this hurting, after everything else. It's soothing, almost, the rush of warmth filling him up steadily.

But after a few minutes the discomfort does show up; a series of slight stings, mirroring the ones in his stomach. "Please stop," he says softly, and the water is shut off immediately.

"Well done," Mark praises him, gently rubbing Taemin' shoulder. "It took in more than I expected. Can it hold it in, if I pull the hose out?"

Taemin has no clue, but he's willing to try. He nods, a little unsure. The metal nub hurts more on the way out, and he whines sharply as he helps push it out, feeling warm water beginning to trickle down his thighs.

Mark's fingers land over his hole, rubbing it idly. "Clench, pretty thing. Keep it in."

It's surprisingly difficult, having so much liquid in his body, having to fight his natural instinct to expel it. He can feel it slosh around when he adjusts his position slightly, unpleasantly jostling his guts. Mark is rubbing his stomach again, which is no longer flat, and he moans softly. He only realizes he's hard when Mark's hand brushes against the tip of his erection.

"It likes it," Mark says quietly, voice warm and deep, as his other hand comes to a rest between Taemin's shoulder blades. The air is still chilly against his wet skin and hair, his knee is screaming at him, but it's like all of that grows fuzzier and further and further away. The only thing that matters is Mark's voice, his hand on Taemin's stomach, petting and rubbing him. Taemin realizes he's slipping into subspace, which isn't wise - he doesn't know this crowd, doesn't know what they're capable of - but he goes under anyways. When has he ever lived wisely.

After some time (seconds? minutes?) Mark helps him up onto his knees, and tells him to push, a hand on Taemin's shoulder to steady him. Taemin tries to obey, but he can't, feeling weak all over. His body no longer seems his, at most a vessel his mind exists in. A hand is pressed to his lower stomach, _hard_ , and he groans in pain. Liquid starts flowing from him, and it smells bad, like piss. He realizes he's also peeing, and he flushes and whines in protest, embarrassed that he's going without even realizing, like some kid wetting his bed.

"You're doing so good," Mark says into his ear, rubbing his stomach again. The fuzzy feeling returns, flowing from behind his ears to the top of his spine, causing his nipples to pebble and his chest to break out in goosebumps. He's no longer cold, no longer that wet either (how long has he been out for?). He squirms and leans into Mark's leg, barely suppressing an urge of wanting to be held.

When he's cleared out his system, Mark rinses his backside and helps him to his feet. Taemin finds he cannot stand on his own, leaning heavily against Mark, his legs quaking.

He looks over at Taeyong, but Taeyong isn't there anymore. It's just him and Mark in the room.

"How long did we...?" Taemin croaks.

"About an hour," Mark informs him, lips pressed to Taemin's temple. "I filled you up a couple of times, until the water started coming back clean. You came at some point."

Taemin feels incredulous, but doesn't protest the information. There is no reason for this man to be lying.

"I don't remember."

"Yeah, you were out." Mark slowly lets go of him, and Taemin finds he can stand, although he feels far from steady.

"They've moved the party to the library. Are you ready for the second part of the evening?"

Taemin knows it's a gesture, Mark being polite rather than seriously enquiring. Of course he's ready for the library. Why else is he here.


	3. The Library

It's hard to keep things in focus. Jongin had taken pity on him when he saw the state Taemin was in after his adventure in the bathroom, and had poured three fingers of bourbon down his throat. It had burned on the way down. 

He's draped over a footstool, so he won't have to support his own weight, which is a good thing. One finger of hard liquor would have gotten him buzzed, lightweight that he is, nevermind three. He's situated in between a couch and a wall of books, spanning up to the ceiling. The room is bigger than just the few square metres he's occupying, but he has no concept of it, too dazed by having gone under.

Glasses are being placed on his shoulder blades, and he does his best to keep them there, but two have already toppled off, landing on the thick carpet. It had made Lucas laugh, Chittaphon click his tongue.

Slick fingers enter his asshole, and he can't hold back a whine, unprepared for the intrusion. More glasses are added to his back, as he's languidly fingered. He wonders who it is, if he'd recognise the face. Everyone who was present last time is here, but there were new faces too.

The fingers are pulled out of him, replaced with the blunt tip of a dick, and Taemin jerks and whines. He tries to look over his shoulder, which causes another glass to roll off of him with a muted thud, its contents quickly absorbed by the carpet.

Taeyong appears in front of him, nuzzles Taemin's face as he gets down on his hands and knees. He's also a human table, Taemin realizes, but he doesn't need any support from a footstool. His hair is a mess and his lips spit-slicked, but he's somehow still managing to look collected.

"Be quiet," Taeyong reminds him, and then kisses him. Taemin reciprocates eagerly, as he's fucked into. It feels good; the feeling of fullness satisfying, the drag pleasurable.

"Who?" he asks against Taeyong's lips, his eyes sliding shut.

"Mark. You'd think he'd have had enough of you by now, he held you back for ages. And now he's monopolising you again." Taeyong grins against Taemin's lips, looking off to the side somewhere. "I think Jongin is about ready to strangle him. Now be quiet. Be a table."

It's just as well, because Taemin can no longer form a decent reply, all his thoughts on how heavenly it feels to be fucked. Mark's hands are strong on his hips, keeping him in place, but he's not being harsh. He's picked a sensual rhythm, even and deep - or maybe Taemin is just really drunk and everything would feel good right now.

He whines in disappointment when Mark leaves his body, eyes shooting open, and immediately sees him walk into view and settle behind Taeyong. Taeyong gives barely any indication that he's being penetrated, his eyelids fluttering but expression remaining neutral. It's Mark's expression that betrays the act, his face screwed up tight with pleasure, and Taemin watches him, enraptured. 

"The American is so handsome..." 

Oh, he's definitely drunk. Under normal circumstances, he'd sooner choke than pay a compliment that cheesy.

"Canadian," Taeyong corrects him. His voice is just as even as his expression, as if nothing at all is being done to him. He's moving back and forth ever so slightly, every time Mark's hips make contact, but that's it. How does he do that?

"What's... what's the difference?" Taemin slurs, his gaze now on Taeyong's face. He's so pretty, with his curved upper lip and inky eyes. There's tiny creases underneath his eyes, and Taemin finds he wants to touch them.

"Fuck if I know. Incoming: Baekhyun. Figures," Taeyong grins, and kisses him again. "These two patrons always have to one up one another."

Baekhyun is rough with him from the start, shoving into Taemin and setting a harsh pace. It seems to spur on Mark, who also starts fucking with more vigour. Taeyong's head eventually lands on Taemin's shoulder, his quiet gasps landing directly in Taemin's ear. Not so indomitable after all.

The men come inside them almost simultaneously, and the atmosphere in the room seems to have shifted. It's only seconds before the next person mounts Taemin, and this time he gasps in pain, the cock being pushed into him too long to be wielded so casually.

"Lucas," Taeyong whispers, "big paws, bigger dick."

Tears have gathered in Taemin's eyes, and he grits out _fucking hurts_. It was like an oversized dog trying to fit on his owner's lap, unaware he's grown up to be huge.

Lucas pulls out and Taemin gasps with relief. He's turned onto his back, hips kept lifted up by Lucas' hands. _Seriously, how are they that big?_ Taemin can tell they could circle his waist, and then some.

The pressure returns, as Lucas again tries to force himself into his body. Taemin whimpers, desperately trying to relax and take it.

After another twenty seconds of this, he can't hold back his plea. "Lube, please?" he mouths up at Lucas, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. To his surprise, Lucas seems contrite. Like he'd only just gained his monster dick yesterday and didn't yet understand how to fuck people with it.

Once they're lubed up and he's been supplied with another finger of bourbon, it's so much easier to take in Lucas. He throws his head back with a voiceless groan, eyes screwed shut tightly, as Lucas begins to displace his organs.

It's only when one of his hands land on his stomach, an automatic gesture to soothe himself, that he makes another noise, one caught somewhere between shock and arousal. He tucks his chin against his chest, staring in disbelief. He can feel and _see_ Lucas fucking him, the tip distending his stomach every time he pushes in. He's never seen anything like it, and he can only watch incredulously.

Lucas seems blissfully unaware, eyes shut as he fucks with abandon. It's Mark who catches Taemin's eye first. He's watching the display with barely concealed hunger in his eyes, the rawness of his need so intense when they make eye contact, that it leaves Taemin feeling hot all over. He can't remember the last time someone looked at him like that, like they wanted to devour him whole.

Lucas finishes inside Taemin and pulls out, and Mark takes a step forward but is cut off by Jongin, who places a hand to his chest.

"Mark, lay off on the blow for a little while. For me, hm? You're too intense, it's becoming unpleasant."

Mark looks like he's about to snarl, but instead he abruptly turns around and disappears from his line of sight. It ends up being Jongin who treats Taemin to his next creampie, and maybe it's for the best, because Taemin isn't sure how much more abuse his asshole can take.

Jongin is quick about it, his expression teetering on the brink of disinterest the entire time. He comes across Taemin's hole and fucks it into him, and then takes his leave again.

Taemin rolls onto his side, giving his aching limbs a rest. Taeyong is no longer next to him, and he reaches out to where the other had been just prior, rubbing the carpet with his hand. The woven material feels good against his palm, his body feels good; everything feels good and happy right now, wrapped in the numbing blanket of too much alcohol.

He must have dozed off or passed out for a while, eyes flickering open at the sensation of something brushing up against his ass. He looks over his shoulder and sees Chittaphon, and smiles brightly at him.

Chittaphon blinks in response, like he hadn't expected the response. He lifts up Taemin's leg and drapes it over his chest. He has his dick in his hand, but it isn't hard, and it dawns on Taemin what's about to happen. _Here_ , he thinks, panicking a little. They were going to fuck up the beautiful carpet. And more than that, he doesn't want it.

Chittaphon's soft length finds its way into him with relative ease, given how slicked up Taemin is, and Taemin moans when he feels his stream of piss start up. It feels filthy, heightened by how high-end the room is. He has no control at all, the way he had when it was his mouth, he has no choice but to let himself be used, too drunk and fucked out to put up a fight.

But he shouldn't fight. This, this is what is going to make him rich beyond his imagination. Instead of fretting, he should feel gratitude that he's passing muster. 

But... could money really buy this much of his dignity? No matter the amount, was he going to be able to face himself in the morning still?

Chittaphon pulls out and Taemin starts soiling the carpet immediately, his body too relaxed to hold on to the piss. It's beyond mortifying. His face and chest flush to a deep red, and he closes his eyes, quietly wishing he could be anywhere but here.


	4. The Mudroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: emetophobia

It's late afternoon when Taemin wakes up. His mouth feels dry enough to rival a desert, his knee screaming at him when he tries to sit upright. He's on a leather couch, wearing someone's dress shirt. _Books,_ he thinks, looking up at the wall of books from yesterday.

He's still in the library. 

And sitting up was definitely the wrong move, his hangover making itself known in the form of a deep pounding behind his eyes and a wave of nausea. He nearly throws up, swallowing heavily to keep it down.

"Jesus Christ," he croaks, cold sweat breaking out all over his body. Could this really just be a hangover? Maybe he's caught the flu. As if on cue, his stomach cramps, and he groans into his hands. The leather is sticking unpleasantly to his naked thighs, and he can't remember the last time he felt this awful. 

Someone takes a seat next to him, and something hard and cool bumps into his hands. He spreads his fingers to take a look, and sees Mark, holding a large glass of water.

"Good morning sunshine," he says, his voice just as gravelly as Taemin's, "want a bump? It'll help." The Canadian looks a lot more gaunt in the daylight, dark circles underneath his eyes and a greyish tint to his skin. The perfect illustration of why Taemin usually steered clear from drugs.

"No," he whispers. "Ugh, my knee hurts." He takes the glass of water, but his hungover body isn't interested in displaying grip strength, and he drops it. It shatters against the hardwood flooring, its contents going everywhere.

He groans in pain at the sharp noise, grabbing his head. "Fuck, what happened to the fucking carpet?"

"Staff removed it last night. It was beyond saving once Chittaphon was through with you." Mark leans forward and picks out an ice cube from in between the glass shards, wrapping it in his pocket square before handing it to Taemin. "Here. For the knee."

"Eurgh-"

"Don't hurl," Mark suggests, "you'll give Jongin a conniption. He had that floor imported from an old estate in England, meaning it has about a million crannies. They'll never get all the chunks out. He was already pretty miffed over the carpet getting ruined, I don't think he'll forgive having to tear up his precious English floor too." 

He leans back, letting out a lengthy yawn. "Chitta said he'd reimburse him in full, but the boss wouldn't stop yelling about how he should've used the bathroom if he had to go, like a civilized person, why else did he have the place built and a new toilet brought in." Mark draws a little circle in the air. "Etcetera, and so on. It was quite the sight, he rarely gets angry to the point of shouting. Apparently it was a _really_ nice carpet."

"Hrnr," Taemin replies weakly, icing his knee. Mark is talking a mile a minute, without a care in the world. It's horrendous. Maybe he should accept that bump after all.

Fingers are threaded into his hair, and his head is tilted back. He's looking up into Jongin's face, stood behind the couch. "I'll have you two know that it was a 17th century handwoven antique, which I had refurbished and altered by one of the greatest-" he interrupts himself, taking in a deep breath. "You know what? Nevermind. Pearls, swine."

The world is spinning. _Don't. Don't throw up,_ Taemin thinks to himself. "Maybe you could have it replaced with... an Ikea carpet?" he suggests weakly.

Mark hurriedly muffles a laugh in response, and Jongin's eyes narrow. "I was about to praise you for your performance yesterday. It wasn't perfect, but you held your own. However, one good performance doesn't earn you the right to taunt me with... mass-produced furniture."

Taemin smiles, eyes watering with the effort to stay composed. "Have you ever even been to Ikea? It's nice."

"Payment will be made per our agreement, please get cleaned up and take your leave within the hour." Jongin lets go of him, walking away as he says: "The library is about to open for business again, and your type of services won't be needed tonight."

Taemin looks around slowly, and for the first time, notices what's in the space beyond books and the couch he's sitting on. Round tables covered in green velvet, surrounded by five to six chairs. His heart starts beating a little faster, a pang of excitement going through him. 

"Card games?" Taemin asks, leaning over the backrest to get a closer look. Whoever this button-up belongs to, he's a broader man than Taemin, because the garment slips off his shoulder.

Mark nods. He's looking Taemin up and down, his eyes coming to a rest on the naked shoulder. "High stakes. Fun."

Jongin comes back, with another glass of water and a strip of painkillers. Mark helps Taemin drink the water and swallow one of the pills. The shattered glass gets cleaned up by staff, and a fire is started in the fireplace. Taemin starts feeling a little less horrible.

"Better?" Mark asks, "your skin doesn't look like white clay anymore, so I'll venture a yes." He looks completely relaxed, despite still wearing yesterday's outfit. Like he's hanging out in his living room. Like he lives here. 

Could a person really live in a place like this? The manor looked like any other Gangnam skyscraper on the outside, but everything on the inside had a weird artificial vibe to it. To be fair, Taemin doesn't know what's on the floors he hasn't visited yet. Maybe there were apartments.

"Yeah. Thanks," Taemin says, no longer paying attention to Mark's words. "Hey listen, how do I get in on these cards?"

Mark's eyebrows go up. "Uh. You don't."

Taemin rolls his eyes. "Come on, don't give me that invite-only bull. There has to be a way. Tell me."

Mark shakes his head. "It's not that. In theory, anyone can join, as long as they can afford it. You," he says, pointing at Taemin, "can't afford it."

Taemin frowns in offense. "What do you know about what I can and can't afford."

Mark smiles widely, that same playfulness from before resurfacing. He's undeniably good-looking, with those sharp cheekbones, although he'd most likely look even better if he put on a couple of pounds and stopped using. "I'm finances in this place. I mostly deal with off-shore accounting, but I also pay the staff."

"Fine, so you know what's in my account. How far off am I from the buy-in?"

"Um. If you put in everything you currently have, including what you made last night, you're at eighty percent. And that's just for the buy-in. And obviously you wouldn't put in everything you currently have, so-"

"I would," Taemin interrupts him, feeling the heady pang of excitement he always felt at the possibility of risk. And this would be the biggest risk-reward table he'd ever sat in on. He could feel his body heating up, his mouth watering. He swallows heavily, leaning forward. "I'd bet it all. Please get me at the table, Mark. Please."

It's the first time he's used the other man's name, the first time he's pleaded with him, and the effect is undeniable. Mark shifts, his eyes following the line of Taemin's body, observing what is visible of his chest inside the shirt. Taemin starts unbuttoning it. 

"You're very pretty," Mark supplies, his tone affected but noncommittal.

"I'll give you whatever you want. Anything," Taemin says, slipping the shirt off. He means it, and he knows Mark can tell.

"No," Mark says plainly, and gets up. "Gather your things, I'll see you out." 

The rejection stings. Taemin knows he has sex appeal, even more when he's turned on, and nothing turns him on as much as the prospect of high stakes. He knows he looks good in this moment. Maybe he needed a shower? He sniffs his armpit. No. Someone had made the effort of cleaning him up. 

So what was Mark's deal? Yesterday, he'd acted like Taemin was irresistible.

He gets his answer when he meets Mark in one of the lower hallways, wearing the jeans and t-shirt he'd arrived in yesterday - no point in dressing up when Jongin wanted him naked from the second he stepped through the door - and Mark pins him to the wall. The air is pushed from Taemin's lungs as his chest is slammed into the wall.

"Anything, huh?" Mark growls into his ear, crowding him as he starts grinding into his ass. "You're even more of a whore than I thought."

Taemin nods, squeezing his hands between his crotch and the wall so he can undo his jeans and push them down his hips. "Your whore," he whispers, pushing back against Mark's erection.

"Mine? You mean my boss's whore. You like that, making me look foolish in front of him? Making me look weak?" Mark tugs down his underwear and brutally forces two fingers into him, causing Taemin to cry out.

"Shut up," Mark hisses, "take me like the good whore you are and shut your mouth."

Taemin nods and falls silent, clinging to the wall as Mark starts fucking him on his hand. It's a good thing he was given that painkiller, it makes the experience bearable. But his ass is still so sore from yesterday, and he can't hold back a pained gasp at a particularly sharp thrust.

"Too much?" Mark asks, nuzzling behind the shell of Taemin's ear, breathing him in. "You said anything."

"Give me a bottle of lube and I'll ride you until you can't remember your name," Taemin grits out, "I'll fuck you so hard your dad will feel a little twinge in his balls."

Mark laughs, and pulls his fingers out of him. Taemin slumps against the wall, and there's a sharp twinge in the knee that got banged up. "Nah. Anyone can fuck me. No, there's something else you can do for me. Do it well, and I'll get you a seat at the table."

\--

It's a week before Mark calls on his favour, enough time for Taemin to recover from last time's ordeal. 

He's hired to work a large get-together featuring some of Jongin's most important investors. It's not a meeting, it appears to be some kind of celebration, set in a large dining hall.

Adjacent to it is the space he'll be working tonight, a relatively narrow room Mark had called the mudroom.

The mudroom is traditionally where people take off their shoes and coats, and drop off their umbrellas. In the mansion, it's where certain guests were temporarily relieved of their weapons before they were led deeper into the building. It didn't even lead to outside, like any other mudroom. Just to a hallway and to a kitchen, which was producing a multitude of fancy courses.

Taemin is on his knees, fully dressed, by the archway connecting the mudroom to a large dining hall. He's positioned a little off to the side, not easily spotted from the hall, and he's supposedly a key dish. Which is nonsense, because no one here drives their own car or opens their own front door.

Really, he's meant for 'guest relief'. He feels a little stupid, just crouching here in his ratty t-shirt and jeans, while staff walk to and fro. He'd tried taking it all off, but Mark had stopped him, giving no explanation as to why.

It appears his role is common enough that it doesn't need explaining, because as the night wears on and the drinks start flowing more freely, men start coming to him. He's expecting piss, but it's all blowjobs, or even just men coming in his mouth without letting Taemin touch them. 

He loses count after the first dozen, just sucks and swallows, until his whole face is aching with the strain of it. Taemin enjoys giving head, doesn't really mind the muskiness. But after two hours, when yet another dick is pulled free and pushed against his lips, he starts feeling resentment and slight nausea.

He licks the head while looking up at the man, tasting him with a slightly scrunced up nose. The man has faint acne scarring on his cheeks, and the signature look of someone who has gone through something horrible very recently. It causes Taemin to sit back with a frown.

"Are you okay daddy?" he asks gently, rubbing his hands up the man's thighs, falling into the usual persona he uses with clients old enough to be his father.

The man gives him a shocked look, almost like he's seen a ghost. He looks out into the hall then, where the racket keeps increasing as the guests grow more intoxicated. Apparently satisfied no one is paying them attention, he reaches down and gently cups Taemin's cheek. Taemin now notices how drunk the other is; he's lightly swaying on his feet, his eyes unfocused.

"Wasn't sure where I was for a second. I thought Jongin's whores never spoke... you're a good boy, aren't you?" he slurs quietly, rubbing his thumb over Taemin's lower lip. "Working to meet rent?"

Taemin pouts, kicking up the persona into higher gear. "Wanna pay all my bills. But it's hard."

"Yeah?" the man asks, dragging the pad of his thumb over Taemin's gums, "d'you need daddy's help?"

Taemin hums cutely and sucks the man's thumb into his mouth, maintaining eye contact. When the stranger replaces his thumb with his dick, Taemin sucks him off like it's all he's ever wanted in life, his sounds obscenely eager. 

Really, he doesn't give a fuck about this dude, but anything to break up the monotone of rote work. And if he could give some rando the suck of his life while amusing himself, hey, all the better. He puts his all into it, whining softly when the man climaxes.

"Sweet boy... such a sweet baby boy," the man grunts, while shooting warm come onto the back of Taemin's tongue.

He swallows the guy's load, and then presses a kiss to the tip of his dick. "Bye daddy," he enunciates, rounding out his eyes as he looks up at him. The man drags his hands through his hair, muttering _holy hell_ to himself before staggering off.

Taemin feels re-energised after, his blowjobs a little more heartfelt. Lucas shows up at some point, and then comes back for seconds, which fills Taemin with pride, even though he hates trying to dislodge his jaw to fit that unreasonably big dick. At least it wasn't being shoved up his ass this time.

The evening dwindles down on a quiet note, and Taemin is left to sit by himself as guests are reunited with their guns and knives, and kitchen staff cleans up and fries up something in garlic for a late-night snack of their own. The smell should probably be making him hungry, especially after working so hard, but he just swallowed so much come, the last thing on his mind is food. 

He's full, he realizes. Weird.

When he's certain no one else is coming over, he sits down on his butt and wraps his arms around his legs, resting his cheek against his knees. Mark had only said to be of service, and to stay put, and so that's what he's doing.

"Hey," a voice comes. Taemin looks up. It's Mark, and he looks livid, lips pulled into a thin line. 

He crouches so he's at Taemin's eye level, leaning in threateningly, waving a narrow envelope back and forth. A traditional design for a money gift. Taemin recoils, back pushed up against the wall. "Care to explain this, you little fucker?"

He tosses the envelope at him, but Taemin doesn't touch it. "I don't know what that is," he says.

"It's payment, from Park Yoochun," Mark hisses, grabbing at Taemin's shoulder, "what could someone like you possibly have to do with _Park Yoochun_. Explain yourself. Now."

"I don't know who that is!" Taemin exclaims. He's never been a very brave man, and Mark is freaking him out.

"No? That's funny, because-" Mark picks up the envelope and pulls out a cheque, "-he left this for you. Literally a blank cheque, signed and dated."

"I don't know why he did that. I swear." Actually, he's beginning to get an inkling. Must really have been the suck of his life. Taemin gives Mark the most owlish look he's capable of, trying to look innocent and clueless. It seems to work, because Mark exhales slowly, rising to his feet.

"This isn't a game, Taemin. You're going to get someone killed, and it's probably going to be you. Park Yoochun is not someone you want to be associated with. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"I'm giving you this cheque, because I don't have a choice. Do not cash it. You got that? Don't cash this thing. I'll take care of your buy-in, and whatever else. Just promise me."

"I promise," Taemin says solemnly, as he tucks the scrap of paper in his back pocket.

A promise, from a whore to a gangster. Because it had become increasingly clear: none of these people were simply the businessmen they were portraying themselves to be.

 _Ridiculous,_ Taemin thinks. Why couldn't money ever just be money?

"Good," Mark says, reaching out to brush some of Taemin's fringe aside. "Now let's go watch the footage."

"Footage?" he asks. Mark points out the camera in a corner of the room, an inconspicuous black dome on the ceiling.

"Let's tally how many loads you swallowed. That was tonight's game. Whoever guesses closest gets the prize money."

Taemin gives him an incredulous look, as his ears burn red with shame. He loved his job, usually took pride in it. To have it gamified like that, it didn't sit right. "That's... depraved."

Mark grabs him by the hand, pulling him to his feet. "Oh lighten up, we play it every week. Taeyong usually has first dibs, but he's unavailable at the moment." Mark taps his own Adam's apple. "Sore throat."

\--

They watch the footage together, in a small office space with a wealth of security screens, Mark taking careful tally with Taemin on his lap. The footage doesn't have sound and only films patrons from the shoulders down, and Taemin's face is largely blocked from view most of the time, so his interaction with the man he suspects is Yoochun doesn't really stand out. He breathes a little easier once they're past it.

"Forty-four," Mark says, sounding genuinely impressed, "guess they liked having a fresh face, that is so much higher than it usually is."

He rolls his eyes, leaning back. "Ugh, whoever wrote a stupidly high number is probably just going to win it all." He frowns at Taemin. "I put in a really conservative number, too. Figured you'd quit pretty quick."

Quitting had been an option? "That's what you get for underestimating me," Taemin says, faking bravado. In reality, the hard number is making him feel queasy. More than forty strangers, he simultaneously had the come of forty complete strangers in his stomach. Well, forty strangers and Lucas.

Mark seems to be thinking along the same lines, placing a hand to Taemin's stomach. "Your tummy must feel so full."

Taemin scowls at him. He already feels disgusting, he doesn't need Mark getting off on it. "Stop it."

"Don't be like that," Mark says gently, and drags Taemin off his lap and down to the floor, depositing him in between his knees. "I'm proud. Aren't you happy? You're on your way to become the most successful whore we've ever hired."

He starts unbuckling his belt, rubbing his length through his underwear. "Round it out to forty-five," he suggests.

"I don't want to. I've had enough," Taemin says, turning his head away.

"But you haven't," Mark informs him, reaching out and forcefully grabbing Taemin by his hair.

"I don't want to," Taemin repeats, a little panicked now. Jongin had promised no harm would come to him. Jongin isn't here.

"Do you really not want to? Really think about what you're saying." He's rubbing the back of his hand across Taemin's cheek. "Tell me no one more time, and you'll be done for the night."

Taemin squeezes his eyes shut, feeling humiliation wash over him. "Please don't make me," he says quietly.

"I'm not making you," Mark points out. "Just tell me no again, and you can go home. Say 'no', Taemin."

Taemin's fingers dig into his thighs. The picture of the library is vivid in his mind, its green tables... he could win big, so big. What was one more blowjob on a night like this. Why was he even acting out. It's like he didn't even want his prize. 

He stays quiet.

"Thought so," Mark says evenly, and lets go of him. He leans back in the chair, and waits. Taemin watches his own hands as he pulls Mark's dick free, wondering why his fingers feel so odd all of a sudden. Like they weren't really attached to him anymore. He leans closer and sucks Mark down without thought, letting his body's intimate knowledge of the act take over.

"Such a good slut," Mark praises him through gritted teeth, as Taemin takes him in deeper, "built to take cock. Built to be filled."

 _Am I_ , Taemin thinks. Maybe it's true. He was here, wasn't he? He was doing it. So why did it feel like his pride was being crushed. Maybe it'd been a miracle he'd held on to it this long.

Mark forces his head down further. He's average in size so he shouldn't be hard to take, but Taemin still finds himself gagging. _You've had enough,_ his body warns, _it's time to stop this_. But he doesn't stop, and he's not sure he'll ever enjoy sucking someone off again after tonight.

When Mark comes in the back of his throat, Taemin's gag reflex responds violently. He jerks away and throws up underneath the desk, and it looks and smells so vile that he nearly throws up again. _Human bodies aren't built for this kind of treatment_ , he thinks.

"Is your tummy upset?" Mark asks, looking underneath the desk. "Let's soothe it, hm?" He holds out a hand to Taemin. "Come have a drink, sweetheart. You'll feel better."

He crawls out from underneath the desk, and Mark hands him a can of coke. The sweet fizziness is heavenly, clearing his mouth of sour and bitter, and feels good going down. Mark watches as Taemin finishes the can.

"You just need to drink one more drink for me, okay? I need to take a leak."

Taemin swallows heavily, taking a deep breath as he places the empty can down. What did it matter at this point. He'd already done all of these things. Everything already felt filthy. At least Mark was being nice to him.

It's easy to swallow Mark's piss, compared to the blowjob. Mark's hands on his cheeks are almost tender, and it feels warm. If it once tasted vile to him, all he tastes now is the lingering sweetness of the soda.

When he's done, Mark tucks himself back into his pants and gets them both to their feet. He steps closer, until their bodies are flush. "Taemin has been a very obedient thing tonight," he praises, lips barely brushing the shell of Taemin's ear, "so willing to put itself to good use. So beautiful. It's enough to drive a person crazy."

Taemin just nods in response, leaning against Mark. He can't think anymore. He doesn't want to think anymore. 

"You're not a person, are you? You're not like me."

Taemin shakes his head, murmurs: "Not like you."

Mark brings up a hand, and rubs it over Taemin's stomach. It's a soothing motion. "You're less than a person?"

Taemin nods again, and wraps his arm around Mark's shoulders, tucking his face in the crook of the man's neck. In this moment, he's willing to say anything, as long as Mark keeps rubbing him like that. He smells good, like vanilla tobacco and cologne.

"Hey, you seem a little tired. Should I call you a cab?"

Taemin clings to Mark in response, strangely anguished at the thought of having to go outside. He can't right now, he can't face anything right now. He'd been pushed and pushed, and now he's reached his hard limit. If he has to deal with one more hurdle, he's going to experience a meltdown; they've been happening all his life, so he knows the warning signs. "Want... stay with you?" he asks, and even to his own ears it sounds pathetic.

"Sure," Mark says, and Taemin can hear the satisfaction in his voice. It doesn't matter.

As long as he can stay inside, with someone he knows, he'll be safe.


	5. The Apartment

Turns out Taemin's initial guess had been correct. Mark had led him to an apartment on one of the higher floors and declared it his home. He's spent the last two weeks in it, and for most of that time he's kept in bed, where it's discovered he hadn't been lying when he said he could ride someone until they forgot their own name.

Mark has his hands resting on Taemin's slender hips as they move back and forth, looking up at him through sweaty bangs. Taemin is leaned forward, hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Mark's head.

Taemin's eyes are closed, his lips parted as he breathes out in puffy exhales. His dick is lying soft again Mark's stomach, having been brought to orgasm so often that he can't get it up anymore. The same cannot be said for Mark, who seems to possess both a short refractory period and bottomless stamina. 

"Fuck," Mark is cursing quietly to himself, "fuck, you're so gorgeous... look how wrecked you look, just from sitting on my dick."

Taemin doesn't agree with the notion that he's just been sitting, but he doesn't have permission to speak, so he just continues fucking himself back onto Mark's cock.

"I'm gonna come," Mark grits out, and Taemin nods to show he heard him, increasing his pace with strained grunts. He's always had pretty good endurance — mostly because of the sheer amount of sex he has on the job — but the man underneath him is proving to be the workout of his life.

Taemin wonders if it's a side-effect of all the cocaine. Because Mark uses truly dazzling amounts of the stuff. He keeps a literal mound of it on one of the tables in his apartment, the sight of it so ridiculous it had made Taemin laugh, the first time he noticed it. Who just kept hundreds of thousands worth of blow on a table like that? It had caused him to start liking Mark a little bit, despite himself. Call it the pull of a kindred chaotic spirit.

And Mark was very chaotic. At the start of their time together, Taemin had witnessed the other stay awake for almost three days straight, until finally downing an entire bottle of Jack Daniel's on the third day and passing out for twenty hours straight. 

And then he'd done it all over again. It was beginning to look like all Mark did with his days was work long hours, and spend the rest of the time riding his high hard and crashing just as hard.

The grip on Taemin's hips turns bruising as Mark comes, undoubtedly adding to the countless bruises already littering his skin.

Mark went hard in everything he did.

After he's fucked him through his orgasm Taemin slumps forward, breathing harshly, so over-exerted his muscles feel like jelly. He tucks his chin over Mark's shoulder, trying to catch his breath.

"You realize you're not getting paid for this, right?" Mark asks sardonically, tracing his fingertips along the length of Taemin's spine, "you're that much of a slut, that you'll give it away for free?"

Taemin would once again disagree. Because he _is_ going to get paid for this. 

With a seat at that table. 

The agreement between them is informal, so for now, he thinks it best to keep himself at the forefront of Mark's mind. Keep himself in his favour, lest the older man "forgot" his promise. 

This hadn't been his original plan when he found himself unable to go home, but it had shaped up to be as good a plan as any. Doing things off the cuff suited him, and the only real downside to living here was that he hadn't been able to get a bit of gambling in. And maybe he was starting to get a little antsy — if he was being completely honest with himself — but at least he wasn't a raging addict like Mark, who couldn't go an hour without a bump.

He touches his hand to Mark's throat, a request for permission to speak.

"Does my pretty boy have something he wants to say... is his dumb little head even capable of stringing a whole sentence together?" Mark asks sweetly, his hand sliding over the slight curve of Taemin's ass, fingers finding his slick opening and pressing in. "Speak."

Taemin shudders over the intrusion, weakly pushing back against Mark's fingers as he leans in. "Love daddy's fingers so much," he murmurs into Mark's ear, voice thin and sweet, "love daddy's cock. Again, please?"

Mark laughs, incredulous. "Tempting... but no. Unlike you, daddy has a job." 

With that, he pushes Taemin off of him, who lets out a groan of pain as he flops against the mattress. "Daddy's insatiable little doll will have to entertain himself until tonight."

Taemin whines and squirms, pouting the entire time Mark's showering and getting ready to leave. The apartment is relatively small but beautiful, an open-plan design, shower walls clear glass and adding to the architectural appeal of the space.

As soon as he's gone, Taemin's demeanour changes. He drops the act, expression becoming cold.

 _Asshole_ , he thinks while also getting in the shower, _no job, my ass. I work harder than everyone in this fuck-ass building._

The hot water feels heavenly on his overworked muscles, washing some of his aches away. But he still keeps it short. The times he's been able to explore — when Mark either left the apartment or went dead to the world after another binge — have been limited, but in that time, he's learned some interesting things about the manor. He wants to learn more.

For instance, he'd become convinced the elevators skipped floors. The numbers were sequential, but the length of time in between some floors was uneven. It was confirmed when he finally found a staircase: some floors simply didn't have doors leading to them.

His mission for the day was to find his way onto one of those floors.

Another interesting thing was that none of the upper floors seemed to have cameras, or at least none that he'd been able to spot. Where the play rooms downstairs were rife with them, the upstairs' design seemed intent on safeguarding privacy.

He slips out of Mark's door, wearing a black hoodie he'd found in the back of his closet and his own pair of jeans. So far, he's always been back in time, before Mark returned or woke up. So he's not sure Mark even knows Taemin leaves the room sometimes, if Mark knows Taemin memorised the (unusually long) room entry code the first time they arrived at its door.

Most of the time, Taemin didn't love being on the spectrum. It caused him many inconveniences, like being overly sensitive to sensory input and having associative thoughts that never seemed to want to slow down. The meltdowns were by far the worst, isolating and terrifying. But his above average visual memory had proven useful to him many times, so maybe he shouldn't fault his brain too much.

He walks down the narrow hallway swiftly, taking a couple of turns until he reaches the door to the stairs. The layout of the floors were another thing that mystified him. None of them were uniform in design, and hallways often led to unexpected places or even dead ends. Even while actively memorising where he was going, he'd gotten lost twice, wandering until happening on a point of recognition by chance.

The whole building seemed to be designed to be some type of maze. _Total fire hazard_ , Taemin thinks, amused despite himself. If this whole building had been Jongin's design, the man possessed a more interesting mind than Taemin had initially given him credit for. 

But what was it all for? Maybe it just existed because it could exist, just like all the rooms that only existed to have debauched activities on the pricey furniture; human and otherwise.

He takes the stairs two steps at a time, until he's finally on a floor with a door again. He opens it slowly, just enough to have a look. The hallway beyond it is empty. They always are. He wonders how many people actually come up here, and what is behind the anachronistic doors. More apartments?

He's about to take a step forward into the hallway when a soft-footed figure walks right past him, barely an arm's length removed from him. The figure doesn't glance back and seems oblivious, walking past leisurely, buried in their phone.

Taemin suppresses the urge to jump back, instead holding his breath. His heart calms a bit when he recognises the person. It's only Taeyong.

He quickly deliberates his options and then takes the plunge, taking a couple of steps forward and tapping Taeyong on the shoulder. "Hey! Long time no see."

Taeyong startles with a soundless yell, his body twisting to see what touched him. His face slowly relaxes when he recognises Taemin, leaning forward to grab his knees, huffing.

 _Hi_ , he mouths once he's regained some of his composure, face breaking out into a hesitant smile, eyebrows still drawn together. He looks good, combed-back hair and expensive-looking turtleneck. He taps his throat and shakes his head. _Can't speak._

"Right, Mark mentioned that," Taemin says with a smile, remembering Mark telling him Taeyong had a sore throat. 

_Oh?_ Taeyong mouths, looking a little surprised, studying Taemin's expression. But then he nods with a smile, as if accepting the info, and taps something into his phone before showing it to Taemin.

_YOU SCARED ME. Why are you here?? Usually I'm the only one residing on this floor. Are you moving in?_

"No, I've just been staying over at Mark's. I got bored so I'm doing a little exploring," Taemin explains with a smile, trying to sound casual and innocent.

Taeyong takes his phone back and writes more. _I see. Would you like a tour?_

It takes a lot out of Taemin to respond with a level of disinterest after he's read the message. "Uh, sure? That could be fun."

They hold hands as they explore, but his initial excitement wanes quickly. The floor is what Taemin suspected it to be; Taeyong has an apartment that's nearly identical to Mark's, just with a slightly different layout. All the other doors have a standard code in place and lead to similar apartments.

"Pretty plain," Taemin comments eventually, as they're going down another unremarkable hallway, watching Taeyong's relaxed profile as they walk. He takes a deep breath, and thinks _fuck it_. "What about the floors the elevator doesn't stop at?" he asks, trying to sound like this a normal observation.

Taeyong fixes him with a sharp eye, the corner of his mouth pulling up. Taemin understands he's been caught. Taeyong taps into his phone and shows it to Taemin.

_You figured it out much faster than I did. Clever._

Taemin laughs, a little thinly, and tries to go for a joking, familiar tone. Mark had told him before this place wasn't a game. Did he just cross a line? "But you figured it out too? Must be our Cancer intuition."

 _A fellow Cancer? Should've known._ Taeyong looks amused, not at all suspicious.

Taemin does a little wriggle dance, out of relief more than anything, and huffs out a laugh when Taeyong spontaneously copies him. They're left grinning at each other, smiles equally bright, and it distinctly reminds Taemin of a simpler time. Kid-him, going on childish adventures with the boys from his building. Making friends on the playground, catching little frogs by the river. Back when life was still logical and easy.

 _Anyways, I have to go. I have something to attend to._ Taeyong pockets his phone and lets go of Taemin's hand. He's about to say goodbye, when suddenly, Taeyong is leaning back in. He loses a bit of momentum halfway through, like he's questioning himself as he's doing it. His face gets very close to Taemin's, eyes shining darkly. He huffs out a soundless breath, and then a gentle kiss is being pressed to Taemin's lips. Taemin waits for the tongue, for the hands on his body next, but it doesn't happen. Their kiss remains simple. Chaste.

He's blushing when he steps back, and Taemin suspects he's also a little flushed. It's been a while since he's been kissed like that: a kiss that is merely a kiss, rather than a prelude to something more. Again he's reminded of his childhood, of the very first boy he ever kissed. It had been some older kid named Kim Kibum, who Taemin had liked both for his pretty face and for how loud his laugh had been.

 _Bye,_ Taeyong mouths as he waves shyly, and then he takes his leave, jogging down the hallway. Taemin walks back to Mark's apartment at a slower pace, feeling a little bit dazed. He touches his fingertips to his bottom lip as he's going down the stairs, vaguely wondering how Kim Kibum was doing these days. Who did he grow up to be? He'd always dreamed of stardom, and Taemin had always gently made fun of him for it. But really, Kibum had possessed every quality to make it big. And maybe he had. If Taemin's family was still speaking to him, he probably could've found out from one of his aunties, who functioned as human history books when it came to neighbourhood gossip.

It takes rounding the corner and seeing Mark going into his apartment to jerk him from his reveries, the click of the door falling closed behind the older man going through Taemin's body like an electric current.

Oh, shit. Now Mark would know Taemin didn't stay put whenever he left him. It had never explicitly been asked of him, but that argument wouldn't hold up if Mark got angry over it.

He walks even slower now, loathe to go back into Mark's apartment. Suddenly, his little explorations seem more childish than ever. What had he thought he'd find, really. And whatever it would've been, would it have been worth losing out on a chance at the table for? Mark had told him before not to mess around, had told him it could cost him. Why hadn't he listened.

He takes a deep, steadying breath before tapping in the code with a practised rhythm, slowly pushing the door inwards.

What he finds is not what he expects. It takes him a couple of minutes to confirm it, carefully checking over the entire place, but the conclusion remains the same.

Mark is not inside the apartment.

"What the fuck?" Taemin says into the silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the [ only other NCT dehumanisation fic on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738979) \- we love to see it!!
> 
> I've been wanting to write for this genre for years now, with Taemin as the main object, but could never really get it to work. And then he debuted with Sperm *eyes emoji*
> 
> Thank you for reading, feel free to [come yell at me on twit](https://mobile.twitter.com/linnhuh) bc if we both like superm getting freaky that basically means we're best friends already, no????


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